


The Mending

by TriplePirouette



Series: Outside of the Box [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Steggy Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: Peggy sneaks into Steve’s tent to take advantage of his secret talent. Written for Tumblr’s Steggy Week 2020 Day 6: Headcanons
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Outside of the Box [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847158
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	The Mending

**Author's Note:**

> For Steggy Week ’20 on Tumblr Day 6: Headcanons and Favorite Moments  
> I can’t believe I never posted this. I just can’t. It’s been sitting on my hard drive FOREVER. I love this little headcanon. Reading Outside the Box will make this make much more sense, but TL;DR Steve can sew and Peggy knows it.

Steve was nearly asleep when he heard the rustle at the opening of his tent, the soft scrape of fabric against fabric in the darkness that meant someone had snuck in. “Steve?” Her soft voice floated to his ears, only the barest of shadows visible to him in the darkness.

“I’m awake, Peg,” He mumbled, sitting up and switching the lantern beside his cot on. His tent wasn’t much- in fact he could barely stand up straight in it, but it was a respite from the constant barrage of people and orders that was the base. It was the one luxury afforded to him as ‘Captain America’ of which he actually availed himself.

She looked tired, creases at the edges of her eyes and her lips, uniform rumpled from being worn around the makeshift camp all day, eyes red rimmed as if she’d been trying to keep back her tears. “What’s wrong?”

Peggy pursed her lips, looking back at the flaps of his tent. “I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, knowing what kind of scandal they’d set off if she was caught in his tent, even if this wasn’t the first time she’d snuck in. There were a lot of things that happened on the base that Phillips pretended not to see- people slipping in and out of tents, small flasks being passed around, betting over card games and the like, but there was only so much he could blind himself to, especially in Steve’s case.

Steve sat up all the way, the thin sheet he was using slipping down to his waist his bare chest covered in a light sheen from the humidity of the night. He held his arms out, wiggling his fingers at her. “You most certainly should have.” He sighed lightly when she didn’t move, just raising his eyebrows at her. “Come on.”

With a deep breath Peggy sat gingerly on the edge of Steve’s cot. It wasn’t that she was a stranger to his room, or even to impromptu trysts in the middle of the night with him, but her request tonight, her emotions, had her on edge. Steve let his hands smooth her frizzed hair, running through her locks and over her tense shoulders. She could feel her stress start to melt away with each sure brush of his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Steve questioned, his hands taking up a soft rhythm stroking over her shoulders.

Peggy hung her head, shaking it with a slight laugh. “It’s so silly now. It really-“ She heaved a deep sigh, reaching into her jacket pocket and dumping a handful of satin in Steve’s lap. He just raised his eyebrows as he lifted it, unfurling her slip in front of him.

“Is this… an invitation?” He winked salaciously, shaking the scrap of threadbare satin at her knowing full well a romantic encounter was not what she had in mind when she slipped into his tent.

His joke coaxed a smile from her, even if it only made a brief appearance. Her chin quivered as she reached out. “It… It’s sprung another hole…”

Steve watched as Peggy reached her hands out, poking two fingers through the satin fabric right where it would have hung on her stomach where her belt would have caused friction enough to wear the fabric faster. Peggy tried hard to control her emotions, but he could see it had been the very last straw for some reason. The formerly white satin was now faded and yellowed with age, use, and washings with harsh soap and mineral water. There were other spots she’d mended along the satin. There was a knot of black thread precariously holding the left shoulder strap to the bust and a spattering of little white gatherings where she’s repaired tiny tears. The lace edge along the bottom hem had seen better days, but they all had at this point.

The hole in the front, however, was substantial. Big enough at least for him to see her belly button had she been wearing it, more than likely big enough for him to slip most of his hand through if he tried. He could see where she’d tried to repair it and instead shredded the fabric, the edges of the tear threadbare to begin with and unable to hold even the smallest stitch.

Peggy slipped her hand into her pocket, holding a bent needle and a half spool of drab green thread out to him. “I couldn’t find anything else, and…” Her eyes started to water, and before a tear could fall, Steve had the slip by his side and Peggy in his arms.

“And what?” He whispered, holding her close.

“And it’s my favorite one. My last good one that I bought before the war.” She sniffed, taking a deep breath before she looked up into his bright blue eyes. “We’ve been here so long, Steve. It’s been so long.”

He kissed her forehead roughly, holding her tighter and rocking them both a little. “I know, Peggy, I know.” It wasn’t really about the slip, though he was sure she was lamenting the loss of her last good one. He’d seen first hand the itchy army issue slips she was able to get, the heavy cotton cloth that irritated her when it was hot out, that hung off of her like a flour sack without any shape when he slipped her skirt down to the floor.

That she was losing this last piece of ‘before,’ of comfort that reminded her that there was a time when things wouldn’t be rationed and they wouldn’t be on the front lines, that was what she was lamenting. They’d been slogging about Europe in the mud and the snow and the heat for so long that it was starting to get hard to remember the time before this was their reality, a time before dinner was a ration and everything they owned came out of a packet from Washington DC.

Steve slowly leaned back, pulling Peggy against him and into his cot, shifting as she pressed tight against him and settled in. He let his hands comb through her hair, his fingers drifting over the nape of her neck. “It’s going to end, Peggy. I promise you, it’s going to end.”

~ * ~

* * *

Two days later, Peggy found a small brown paper bundle tucked under her pillow. She slowly unwrapped it, careful to make sure no one else was around. Inside was her threadbare slip, now significantly greener. The hole in front had been carefully patched with what Peggy was positive was the soft cotton of one of Steve’s handkerchiefs, a heavy ring of impossibly small green stitches binding the two fabrics together. Her left strap was now held on considerably tighter with another line of green sewing, and there was a line of stitches going up the right seam, reinforcing where the two pieces of fabric had started to fall away from one another.

Peggy held the satin to her chest, fighting back tears of gratitude. As she inhaled she could smell the spicy tang of Steve’s aftershave. Inside of the brown paper she spied a small, scrawled note: “Until I can buy you a new one, I have plenty more clean handkerchiefs. –S”


End file.
